Luminous Edible Shy
by sparrow.marrow
Summary: Based on the poem 'Luminous Edible Shy' by E.E. Cummings. 10 & Rose share a summer evening on the Estate.


Rose pumps her legs and climbs a little higher. A bright, infinite sky arcs above her and then recedes as she swings back down, warm air whooshing softly in her ears. The sun hangs low over the Powell Estate; a soft orange globe of translucent light surrounded by clouds the warm bruised colour of fresh violets. From this angle, she can almost see the tops of the squat concrete buildings that rise up all around her. In the twilight, they look like rectangles of pale pink sweets, decorated with darker dots of magenta and red icing for windows and balconies and stairwells.

It is good to be home, Rose thinks, even if it is only for a short visit, or, _well_, maybe because it is for a short visit. She swings up, kicking out and then tucking her knees tight beneath her body to gain more speed, propelling herself higher and higher up into the sky. The swing set chains creak, rusty links grinding against each other as they catch and release her weight.

Far off in the distance, she can hear splashes and the voices of children coming from the community pool. There is a faint hint of chlorine in the breeze, which mingles with the fresh smell of summer leaves and the heavier tangier scents of car exhaust and sweat. Hot, thick air rushes over her, flowing past her body and through her hair. She has rolled up her jeans and tossed off her trainers in a nearby sand pit, and now her legs feel deliciously light and free. Kicking out again, she points her toes and her stomach rolls, as she gains more height.

Contentment bubbles up inside of her, spilling over into a delighted laugh when she sees the Doctor tramping up the hill towards the dilapidated old playground. She drags her feet, sending up a spray of loose gravel into the heavy air.

"_Oi_, watch it," the Doctor yelps good naturedly, easily dodging a shower of wayward pebbles as Rose slides to a halt.

Rose grins and bites her lip. "Sorry."

After dinner, they had left Jackie behind in the flat, fast asleep on the couch, the portable fan aimed directly at her face. The Doctor has abandoned his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. He has even rolled up his pant legs in homage to the heat and Rose smiles at the sight of his thin white ankles towering awkwardly above his trainers. There are two ice creams in his hands, one pink, one yellow. The pink has stated to melt; a sticky trail of bright milky sugar is slowly creeping down his wrist and forearm. He holds out both the cones. "Pink or yellow?"

"What flavour is pink?" she asks, eyeing both.

"Strawberry."

"And yellow?"

"Lemon."

Rose looks from one to the other, gripped by indecision. "Yellow then."

A flash of disappointment passes over the Doctor's face, but he swiftly recovers and plops down on the swing beside Rose's, handing over the lemon cone. "I thought you _liked_strawberry."

She shrugs. "I do, just feel like lemon today though." Rose sighs happily, digging her toes into the loose gravel under her feet; tiny pebbles roll across her skin and bury themselves in between her toes. Halfway through her cone, she licks her lips and catches the Doctor's gaze. "What?"

His eyes flick to her yellow ice cream. "How's the lemon?"

"Fantastic." And it really is. It is cool and refreshing and slightly zingy as it melts on her tongue. She arches an eyebrow at him, suddenly suspicious, "Doctor, did _you_want the lemon?"

He sniffs and quickly looks away, feigning nonchalance. "Nah, strawberry's just as good. Better probably," he concludes after taking another lick of his own ice cream.

Rose watches him carefully, hiding a smile. He takes another few licks and then his eyes flicker back to her own slowly melting yellow cone. She smirks and holds out the lemon, "Switch?"

He grins at her and Rose smiles back. He holds out his half-eaten cone and their sticky fingers brush briefly during the exchange.

The Doctor polishes off the lemon, shoving the last of it into his mouth, licking his lips contentedly.

Impulsively, Rose leans forward, her swing's chains creaking as she arches her body towards the Doctor's and places a slightly gummy kiss on the corner of his mouth, before she is jerked back into place. He tastes of strawberries and lemon and salt and summer nights, bitter sweet, like pink lemonade.

The Doctor blinks, surprised, and then grins at her. "What was that for?"

Rose shrugs and smiles back, feeling a warm flush climb up her cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat. "Just because," she supplies quickly. Finishing her own ice cream, she looks slyly over at him from behind the curtain of her hair. "Bet I can fly higher than you."

He appears to think about her dare, licking his lips again. "Rose," he says seriously, "I'm over 900 years old."

She laughs and leans forward. "So!"

"Rose, I'm a _Time Lord_." He leaves unsaid the implication that Time Lords are far too rare and clever and _important_to ever swing on a swing set.

Rose laughs again and pushes her body forward, gaining speed, gravel scraping against her bare feet. Mockingly, she calls out to him from the air, "You too good for swing sets, then? Too _lordly_for a bet?"

He glares at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in an attempt to hide a smile, and then abruptly swings forward, his lanky legs scrabbling for purchase and push.

Laughing, Rose and the Doctor propel themselves into the sunset, flying weightless through the warm, candy coloured sky.


End file.
